


The Lunatic is on the Grass

by LeafZelindor



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hallucinations, Insanity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafZelindor/pseuds/LeafZelindor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six Months later, Sherlock Returns to John. But not to anyone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lunatic is on the Grass

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because it wouldn't get out of my head. It's not long, it's not even good. All errors are my own, not beta'd. People on Tumblr like it So I'm posting it here as well for archival purposes. Title stolen from Pink Floyd's "Brain Damage"

Six months. 

It had been six months since the fall. Six months since he lost his best friend. Six months since John had done more than try to go to therapy. He'd lost weight. Mrs. Hudson worried, Mycroft had stopped by and tried to talk to him. John had thrown him out, almost bodily.

Six months, when Sherlock walked back through the door of their flat. 

Six months of absence, and Sherlock swooped in, kissed him and told him everything would be all right. They'd made love that night. It seemed so natural. John had all but moved into Sherlock's room, and the detective had drug him to bed almost the moment after he entered the apartment. The days brightened. John returned to work, he regained some of the weight he'd lost.

“Sherlock I'll stop by the Shops after work.” He called out. There was an absent hum of response from the other man. Sherlock was bent over his computer, typing away.

John couldn't help smiling and he headed out, humming a bit. He missed the concerned glance of Mrs. Hudson, who had been sweeping the entryway. He cheerfully greeted her and headed on to work. It would hopefully be a good day. Most days were good.

Mrs. Hudson gave him a sad smile and slipped inside as he left. She glanced up the stairs and went to make a phone call.

John ran into Lestrade at the shops. The DI had a basket of odds and ends. Briefly the older man glanced over his cart. “Bit much don't you think?”

“Not at all.” John shrugged then smiled. “I wanted to make a good dinner, and we're out of milk again.”

“oh? You do drink a lot of tea.” Lestrade walked along side him. “Want to come out for a pint?”

“No, I need to be getting home.” John started for the front. Lestrade frowned some, then checked his phone and quickly shot off a message. It was time to put things into action. John was ahead of him in line. He didn't have a row with the chip and pin machine. He headed out the door. Anthea was there to greet him.

“Well Hello.” John gave her a smile. She didn't smile back. “What is it? I don't have any interest in seeing Mycroft.”

“You need to come with me John, It's about Sherlock.” Her blackberry was nowhere in sight. John felt a twinge of worry flash through him.

“Is he all right? I told him to stay in the flat.” He didn't notice the flicker of pity that touched her expression. He followed her to the car. Mycroft was in there. John tried not to give him a sour look. “What's going on with Sherlock.”

Anthea stuck him with a syringe at that moment. John started but found he wasn't able to get out of the seat, he passed out.

When he woke again he was in a very white room. Sherlock was in the corner. John frowned and tried to move. He couldn't. He was tied to a chair. “Sherlock?” He asked slowly, his tongue was dry.

“It will be okay John.” Was all the other man said. He didn't move. He offered no other assurance. The doctor that came into the room was studying John critically. Mycroft was behind him.

“Mycroft what's going on!” John demanded, ignoring the doctor for now. He needed answers. “Where am I, what is going on.”

Mycroft leaned on his umbrella. “John, Sherlock is dead. Don't you remember?”

“No, he's not. He's right....” John trailed off, looking around. There was no sign of the detective in the room.

“John, several months ago, you started talking to yourself. You, were behaving erratically. I wasn't watching closely or we could have done something sooner.” Mycroft sounded saddened. John was confused.

“What are you talking about. Sherlock is back. You've seen him! You've been by the flat...”

“No John, I haven't seen him. I've only seen you.” Mycroft gestured to the doctor who opened up a laptop and started to play a video. John was talking to himself on the screen. He seemed to be having a conversation with someone, but nobody else was there. John shook his head some. He knew this was wrong. Sherlock had been there. They'd touched each other! He struggled. They sedated him. He could hear the doctor discussing treatments with Mycroft. He couldn't speak, He knew he was right.

He'd fight them to the bitter end.

Sherlock was alive. He knew it. He loved him...

Sherlock was alive.

Sherlock... was.....

Mycroft visited with some regularity. It was confusing. John wouldn't speak to him. He didn't understand why Sherlock didn't come. Sherlock was out there. Why didn't he come! Finally, Mycroft stopped coming. John stopped caring. He refused to believe them. Sherlock wasn't dead. Sherlock loved him. He just needed him to be there.

Sherlock never came.

Sometimes, John still sees him in the corners of that white room. Sherlock never says anything when he visits. But he never leaves before John falls asleep. Sherlock brushes his hair from his forehead and presses a kiss there. John never says anything either, because there is nothing to say.

Sherlock is there. Even when he's not.


End file.
